The Compassionate Nazi
by Dark Chaos1
Summary: This story uses locations and characters from the TV show 'Allo 'Allo!, but it isn't centered around any of the characters. I replaced General Von Klinkerhoffen with my own character, who rescues an American woman from his own troops. Unusual, I know.


The Compassionate Nazi

(Author's Note:  Ok…ok.  I know this may seem like an odd story.  And I already know that there are going to be a whole fuck load of historical inaccuracies in this story.  But, this is an idea that came to me either last night or this morning…and when I get an idea, I like to run with it.

This story will use the locations and some of the characters from the British comedy series _'Allo 'Allo!_ (which I don't own)…because I don't feel like consulting a map of France.  :P  But none of them are the main characters.  General Von Klinkerhoffen will be replaced by an original character.

Despite the spirit of the original show, this will in no way be a comedy.  And for any fans of the show who may read this, please realize that it's been almost a year since I've seen any of the show.  So, if I'm off on any of the characters, don't get Heir Flick after me.)

***

The villagers look on with disgust as my motorcade rides into the village of Nuvion.  On the way to the commandeered chateau that is serving as the headquarters for the occupying forces overseeing this village.

The Fuhrer has sent me personally to oversee the goings on in this town.  The local Resistance cells have been giving the Colonel trouble as of late.  And the resident Gestapo, Heir Flick, nephew of Heinrich Himler, can't seem to find any of the members.

Colonel Von Strom's uniform is going to get in a bunch when he finds out that the youngest General in German history is going to be his commander.

I am General Gustaf Van Himmel.  I am the most feared man in all of Germany, save for Adolf Hitler himself.

And I am only 23 years of age, with only 6 kills on my record.

The only reasons why I am so high up in the German hierarchy are because I personally saved Hitler's life once, because I later uncovered an elaborate plot by my predecessor to assassinate him, and because he and I were close friends when I was growing up.

***

I arrive at the chateau.  I am shown the way to the commandant's office.  The busty secretary offers to announce me.

**_"GENERAL…VAN HIMMEL!!!!!!!!"_**  I hold my head, in pain because of the woman's overdone announcement.  I walk in, the two men sitting in the room jump awkwardly to their feet.  Apparently not expecting me so early.

The older one, behind the desk, must be Von Strom.  I don't know who the little weasel with the glasses is, but the rank on his uniform shows him to be a Captain.

"Heil Hitler!!!" the older one says, followed shortly by the Captain's "Clop".

I raise my arm to return the salute.  Then I get down to business.

"I'm going to be blunt with why I am here.  The Fuhrer seems to believe that the two of you and the Gestapo assigned to this village are incompetent.  The Resistance has shown you up on numerous occasions.  I have been sent here, to oversee everything that happens in this town.  If either of you fowl up, you will have to answer to me.  _IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!"_

"Yes sir," they scream in unison.

"Good.  Now, what is there to do in this pit of the world?  I have developed a habit of not working at all in the first 24 hours after I arrive at a post.  I prefer…to see the sights.  Before I demolish them."

The little weasel speaks.  "Well, um…there's the Café Rene.  That's always a good place to go."  "And the waitresses are _very_ accommodating," the Colonel pitches in.

I contemplate their suggestion.  A French café.  Sounds like fun.

"I will be going to this Café Rene.  But make sure that none of your men know this.  I prefer to shock my subordinates with my presence when I arrive at a new place.  Captain?"

"Yes?"

"What is your name?  I prefer to know with whom I'm speaking instead of referring to them in my mind as 'Bespectacled Weasel'."

I notice the Colonel chuckle, and give him a look.  "I wasn't attempting to be _funny_ old man."

"Hans Gerwing," the younger man replies.

"Hmm…I preferred 'Weasel'."  It's always nice to let those under you know right where their place is.

I leave without another word.  I don't even give the salute.  I've grown tired of it.

***

I get in my car after dusk and direct the driver to take me to this Café Rene.  I step out of my car, and begin to walk toward the entrance.

A beautiful sight prevents my legs from working.

A woman, with dark black hair, soft features, and a curvy, toned body which isn't quite concealed from the imagination with the black dress she is wearing, is walking through the night.  The dress is in no means lewd, or that of the streets, but it is formfitting.  I check the direction of her steps, and see her moving in the direction of the café.  Her height is in the 5'5" range.  Her movements have a French influence, her every step screams France.  But she has a certain swagger in her step that I've learned to recognize.

A swagger that only persons of one specific country possess.

I say to myself: "An American woman.  In Nazi occupied France?"

While being confused by this anomaly, I notice some rowdy soldiers walking into the café, already half drunk.  She notices them too, and pauses for a moment.  Only for a moment.  She continues on, fearlessness in her eyes.

She has no idea what the men in this army are capable of.  They'll mistake her for a lady of the streets because of the tightness of her dress.  She'd be able to fight back, but in the end, they'd do nothing else but have their way with her.  And they might even kill her.

Intrigued by this development, I continue into the café.

***

Everybody falls silent as I enter.  The soldiers are afraid of me, some are in awe.  I swear that I hear a hog with a sore throat that's just been branded and kicked in the testicles trying to sing.  I look into the center of the establishment and see an elderly woman trying to sing some French romance song.

I notice large bits of cheese in the ears of every patron.  Even the man behind the bar can't stand the excruciating noise.

I pull out my service pistol and shoot a bottle of wine behind the bar.  The woman turns to look at my form in the doorframe and I point the pistol at her head.  Everybody in the establishment has their eyes on me.

Including the eyes of the American woman who entered right before me.

"I swear on the name of everything that anybody has **EVER** believed to be holy, I will _kill_ you if you sing again while I'm in this café."

The woman scurried off behind the bar and bantered with the man standing there.  I presume them to be married, because he makes some kind of snide comment and she gawks at him.  I notice a tall brunette waitress looking at the man out of the corner of her eye.

I notice the Colonel and Captain sitting with a fellow that I recognize from my earlier days.

"Well if it isn't Lieutenant Greuber!  I haven't seen you in forever.  How are things around here?"

"Oh terrible.  The resistance is so troublesome.  You should have seen my little tank a couple of days ago.  It had so many bullet marks on it.  I spent a solid day re-painting it."

"Poor man.  Speaking of which, I saw some tall police officer outside putting a ticket on it.  I think you'd better handle it."

"Oh dear!"  The Lieutenant ran off to handle the tank.  Odd fellow that.

"Colonel…who in the hell was that screaming bat that I shut up?"

"That was Edith Atwa.  The wife of the owner of this café, Rene," he said while gesturing with his hand toward the man behind the bar.

"He's schtooping the waitresses.  Both of them," chimed in that Hans guy.

I eye the two waitresses, sitting in the laps of two soldiers.  Both of them stunning in their own right.

"I can certainly understand why."  I look at the table where the American woman is sitting.  She's alone, and some of the men are looking at her with clouded eyes.  Their intentions are obvious to me.

"Colonel?  Could you tell me who that lady sitting by herself is?"

"I don't know.  She's been seen around town, but she hasn't brought attention to herself.  Hans and I think she's part of the Resistance."

I look at her as she takes a sip of her drink.  Red wine.  I swear, if I had not seen her walk, I would think she were French.  She's reading a book.  I notice the name of the novel when she turns the page.

Dracula.

"No.  She's not in the French Resistance.  If she were, she'd be out blowing up a railway line tonight instead of sipping wine and reading a book."

"She may be with the Communist Resistance," Hans suggested.

I take careful appraisal of her.  "She seems strong, but not rugged.  Not hard like the women in the Communist Resistance.  She's not with them.  And if she were, she'd be even _more_ likely to be blowing up a railway line."

I sit there.  Making idle chitchat with the Colonel and Captain.  I even go talk with this Rene person.  He's definitely hiding something.  Maybe a lot of somethings.  And not just from his wife.

I put him on a mental list of top Resistance suspects.

Then I hear the sound of a familiar voice coming from the door.

"Heil Hitler!" proclaims the cold calculating voice.  I turn to face him.

Auto Flick.  Of the Gestapo.  My old rival.

He takes one look at me, and turns around to leave.  I don't stop him.  I am off duty tonight.  He and I will pick up our silent feud soon enough.

***

I sit at the bar, with a glass of wine, surveying the room.  The American woman closes her book, finishes her wine, and stands to leave.  I notice some soldiers watching her out of the corners of their eyes.  They follow her soon after she leaves the café.

I follow them.

The woman walks down an alley, the men stand at the mouth and wait for her to be halfway down the back way.  Then I see them run after her.  I catch up pace, drawing my pistol.  We may be the conquerors, but I refuse to let men under my command conduct themselves in such a manner.  I've even consulted with Hitler about this, and he's given me a special permission that no other General has.

The ability to kill anybody under my command without giving a reason to anyone.  Even Hitler himself.

Easy to see why I'm so feared now, isn't it?

I see them catch her, and pull her into an abandoned building.  I approach silently, my pistol at the ready.  I hear her scream in _perfect_ French: "No!  Don't do this!  Please!"  I hear the tearing of fabric.  Her dress.  I turn in and let out a warning shot into the air.  Then I turn my pistol on the men.  There are five of them, enough for one bullet each if necessary.

"The lady said 'don't'.  I suggest you heed her request."

One of the men pulled a pistol.  "You may be our commander, but this is not a German weapon.  There's no way they could trace your death to us.  We could kill you, have our way with this little strumpet, and be back at our garrison before sun up.  Leaving your rotting bod…"

I shoot.  Hitting the soldier between the eyes and killing him before he could finish his speech.  The other four men instinctively reach for their side arms.  I calmly discharge the remaining four bullets in my pistol.  Cleanly killing all of them.

I holster my weapon and walk toward the woman.  She had such fearlessness in her eyes earlier tonight.  But now, she looks like a scared doe.  She backs away.

"No…don't come any closer."

I hold my hands out beside my head, to show that I have no malicious intent.  I reach out my hand.

I say in English: "Your French is perfect.  How long have you been here?"

She tried to keep up the charade.  "What are you saying?  I don't understand English."

"Don't try to fool me.  It won't work.  I saw the print in your copy of Dracula.  It was English.  I know that you're American.  I could tell by the subtle swagger in your step on the way to the café.  Only Americans have that swagger."

She had a slight apprehension to her expression.  But I could tell she was starting to warm to me.  I was certainly better than the men who lied dead beside us.  She began to speak in English.

"Why are you being so friendly?  I'm your enemy."

"Your country is the enemy of my country.  _You_ and _I_ are not enemies.  You have not done anything personal against me.  And quite honestly, I can't stand it when I see my countrymen acting like they're superior to everyone else.  I know that we will not win this war.  Everybody else does too.  They simply don't accept it."

"You're the General that has been put in charge of this village, aren't you?  You're breaking your orders by not taking me captive.  And killing these others…"

"Special dispensation.  I was friends with the Fuhrer when I was growing up, and I saved his life twice.  In return, he gave me the authority to kill anyone with a rank below mine who was under my command if I see fit."  I gently lifted her chin with my hand.

"And I saw fit to kill these men.  If there's one thing that I will not tolerate from anybody in my command, it's rape."

She looked in my eyes.  "You're not like any Nazi I've ever met before."

I smiled.  "I take great pride in that."

"What's your name," she asked me.

"Gustaf Van Himmel.  Yours?"

She looked at the men lying on the ground near us, then at me.  I could see a bit of her previous confidence return to her expression.

"Kayla."


End file.
